


What is your mission now?

by awed_frog



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s10e18 Book of the Damned, Fluff, It's Hard and Nobody Understands, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 22:52:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3787348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awed_frog/pseuds/awed_frog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being an angel is difficult. And being so close to Dean Winchester and his bright, bright soul does *not* make things easier. Like, at all.<br/>Missing scene from S10E18, The Book of the Damned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What is your mission now?

**Author's Note:**

> Still not mine. Sigh.

There is something about this Charlie girl, Castiel thinks, that is highly appealing. He has been trying not to peek into people’s minds, not since Dean told him it was not polite (“That’s a shitty thing to do, man”), but he cannot stop himself from - well, not exactly _reading_ their thoughts, _per se_ , but humans - their minds - tend to emet a certain _radiance_ , and Castiel just sees it. He can’t help himself.

He doesn’t like the term ‘radiance’, though. This is nothing like light. It’s just a word Sam came up with, the one time they discussed it. They were in a motel, and Dean had been thinking about pie, a sort of mental rant about being cold and hungry and tired and just needing a fucking slice of cherry pie, can’t a man even have that, and Castiel had gone to get some - there was a good quality diner just eighty miles away, after all - and when he’d materialized into the room again, Sam had his amused/exasperated face on, but Dean just looked pissed.

“Cas, you can’t look into my mind - haven’t I told you already?”

But Castiel can’t stop completely. Not with Dean, anyway. Everything Dean is just calls out to him. As for other people-

“It’s not their thoughts, exactly,” he’d tried to explain, “but the _shape_ of their thoughts. It just gives out a kind of…”

There was no way of finishing that sentence, no human word for it. Sam had been fascinated by the whole concept. Dean had just seemed wary. Castiel had not mentioned it again. As for ‘radiance’ - it is more of a sound, really. And Charlie’s mind kind of buzzes out to him, a pleasant, familiar thing. It speaks of order and geometric shapes. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that she is so good with machines, or, more likely, the shape of her mind is the precise _reason_ of her love for machines. In any case, it is soothing. Sam’s mind is both linear and fractured, and Dean’s way too loud in his ears, but Charlie’s is just right. Castiel likes organized shapes. He likes bees and birds formations, and the fractals in flowers and shells and snowflakes. They emit a very satisfying sound/light.

“Get more beer, Sammy.”

Yes, Charlie thinks in geometric patterns. Castiel isn’t surprised, therefore, when she starts to fold papers around and make flowers and squares, and he tries to focus as much as possible on that, leaning towards her end of the table, because having his Grace back is turning out to be surprisingly difficult.

“You see, you put your fingers inside, like this, and then-”

First of all, he can see Dean’s soul again. When he had been human, of course, he hadn’t been able to see it at all, and the loss of it had been almost a physical blow; he’d had to remind himself that Dean himself hadn’t actually _lost_ it. Dean was fine. He was whole. This was his, Castiel’s, problem. He saw Dean as a mutilated version of his former self, and it physically _hurt_ him, but Dean was just fine. But it hurt so much, Castiel had been almost happy that Dean had kept his distance during that period. Almost. As for the borrowed Grace - it allowed him to perceive only a faint halo which gave him no comfort at all. But now, now Dean’s soul shines out at him like the Northern Star, and Castiel has to focus very hard not to simply stare at it, because he knows Dean doesn’t want to be looked at for no reason ("That's creepy, people don't like that, Cas"). Of course, Castiel can also see Sam’s soul, and Charlie’s soul, but neither is as distracting as Dean’s. He knows their bond is only part of it, because Dean’s soul was just as bright before Castiel first laid his hand on him in Hell.

“Right, so, when Sammy was nine, he-”

“Dean, nobody wants to hear that.”

“Charlie wants to hear it, right, Charlie? So, he was nine and-”

Secondly, he can hear/see the shape of people’s minds. Dean’s is, again, a distraction, but the main problem with this is the effort required to shut his own mind so as to allow some privacy to his friends. He is not completely sure this is the right path, because the sound/shape of hidden secrets is buzzing at him from every direction, but he must try and trust Dean’s advice on this ("Stop reading my goddamn mind, man!").

“And nobody said anything, you just walked in?”

“Well, Sam had to bat his eyelashes a bit-”

"I did _not_ -"

And also, he is having some trouble to readjust his true self within the confines of his vessel. It feels more natural, easier, since he got his Grace back, but he misses the immediacy of human life - here is a table full of things he sees no point in eating and cannot fully smell; the wood of it hums under his fingers, telling him a story of wind and soft earth; the very room is impregnated by the memories other people have left here. He can see/hear dozens of them (a conversation between two men in shirtsleeves, a couple kissing on the couch behind them, a man throwing a glass against the wall in blind rage) and it makes it difficult to focus on the current reality, because, of course, it is not _current_ , really, time folds and unfolds upon itself; this is simply the reality Castiel needs to be in right now. 

Castiel has dealt with all this before, he knows how - it helps to not touch anything, for instance, to keep his hands very close to the comfort of his coat, which is both real and not real in this plane of existence, but somehow it is more difficult now he’s seen the other side, and this, here, is not helping - there is happiness, love, radiating from his friends, but there is something wrong with them as well. There is no mistaking the tension in Sam’s eyebrows, for one. Castiel allows himself to glance at Dean, and sees he’s oblivious to it - he’s just roaring with laughter, his mouth full of food. Does this mean Castiel is reading Sam wrong?

“I swear, man, the look on her face-”

It would be so easy, so easy if he could just-

But he promised Dean he would not do it again. Also, Sam is good. And loyal. Castiel can hear/smell the love he has for his brother.

And now Dean is laughing even harder, and his unbridled joy makes his soul shine even brighter, and Castiel is distracted again.

“Could you explain what is it you do when you ‘hack’ a machine?” he asks Charlie, a bit desperately, because he needs a reason to turn away and tune out from the world for a while.

“It’s a question to think like they think,” starts Charlie, and her thin face becomes a bit pink, and there is a surprised/gratified smile on her lips.

Time is different when you’re immortal. Castiel listens to Charlie, he is attentive to her words, and he understands them perfectly, because he can complement her explanations with the inner workings of her mind, the exact reason behind her choice of words and tenses, the feelings she experiences when she talks; at the same time, he abstracts himself slightly, steps just a bit to one side, and he's so focused on being there and not there at the same time that he doesn’t really notice when she yawns and pats his shoulder and goes to bed. In fact, he is so successful at closing his mind and not staring at Dean that he doesn’t even realize where he is and why until there is a familiar glow, a kind of bluish light tainted with a darker blue around the corners, and this is Sam’s soul, Samuel Winchester is talking to him, a bit too loudly, and Castiel blinks and comes back.

“Can you help me get Dean back to his room?”

Castiel breathes in, refocuses on the room around him. There is a flutter - about five hundred years of feelings and sounds crowd and sharpen around him as he steps back into this reality, a phenomenon Sam decided he was going to understand as a pack of cards being shuffled ("Dude, enough with the nerdy stuff"). He’s still sitting at the table, and Charlie’s paper flower is still in his hands (he’d forgotten all about it). There is an astounding amount of beer bottles scattered in front of him, and a couple of darker, bigger bottles - the whiskey thing Dean likes so much. Sam’s tall form is leaning over him, and now there is a frown of concern on his face.

“Are you okay, Cas?”

“I am.”

“Great,” says Sam, a bit dubiously.

He hasn’t been drinking, Castiel suddenly realizes, and he wonders if this is a normal thing for Sam to do, because, of course, he drinks much less than Dean does, or if it is a sign of some abnormal feelings Castiel should take care of. Before he can decide what to do, Sam speaks again.

“So, can you?”

Castiel glances up at his serious/worried face for another second, then turns left to look at Dean and sees he’s asleep on his arms. The hair on the back of his neck looks/sounds very soft. Castiel has the sudden urge to pass his fingers through it and suppresses it. He doesn't fully understand these flashes of feelings he's been having since he became human. What makes no sense, in particular, is this need to touch things - to touch Dean's skin - when Castiel can understand him much better using his Grace, can feel Dean's soul pressing up against him wherever he is. No, it makes absolutely no sense, and yet he wonders, sometimes, what would happen if- 

“I will carry him to his room,” he says to Sam, and Sam nods, thanks him, starts to walk away.

“Don’t take his clothes off,” he says, stopping by the door, turning to look at them both. “Dean likes to sleep in his clothes.”

There is the sound/smell of doubt there, and Castiel knows Sam is wondering about this, knows he has a complicated, psychological explanation for this he’s never shared with his brother, and that this explanation is mostly right. Clothes are not an effective shield, and they will not stop blades or bullets, but Dean likes to wake up knowing he could fight straight away, and he’s uncomfortable showing skin, anyway. He doesn't like it, not since Hell.

“I know,” says Castiel simply, and then he stands up and gets closer to Dean and nothing else exists anymore.

With some misgiving, he touches him, puts a hand on his shoulder, tries to stir him.

“Dean?”

“-’m sleeping.”

“I can see that. Can you stand up?”

Dean’s weight is nothing to Castiel, but he knows from previous experiences he cannot carry Dean (“Never do that again! I am not a chick, Cas!”), so they stumble in an awkward mess of limbs through the overly bright hallways of the bunker. Dean complains the whole way, but it is just an uncoordinated sequence of consonants, and Castiel ignores them, cheating here and there by tightening his grip on Dean’s waist and lifting him slightly off his feet.

And then they are in Dean’s room, and Dean almost loses his balance when his shins hit the bed, and he turns around in Castiel’s grip, and now they are standing face to face, and it’s way too close, because there is this sound/smell coming from Dean, the soft buzz of his scrambled thoughts, the hard edges of his body under Castiel’s fingers, and the deafening, blinding brightness of his soul filling the dark room around them.

“You need to sleep now,” says Castiel, and he understands, just barely, why his own breath catches a little, because Dean is really, really too close now, his eyes that clear shade of green, his freckles as well defined as brushstrokes against his face, and then-

And then Dean kisses him on the lips, softly and messily, and puts his arms around his neck, hugs him tight.

“Don’t leave me again,” he says, against his ear, and Castiel’s mind becomes a whirlwind of colours and feelings and words, and before he can pick any of them-

[“It is not allowed.”

“I will never leave you.”

“You can kiss me again, if you-”]

-he hears a different kind of buzz coming from Dean’s mind, and knows his friend is asleep. And there is too much alcohol in his blood - a mild golden colour mixed in with dark red - he will not remember any of this tomorrow. Castiel is both relieved and disappointed. With careful, precise movements, he cradles Dean into his arms, and arranges him on the bed. He knows Dean likes to sleep in his clothes, but he takes off his shoes for comfort, and his hands linger on the sole of Dean's feet for a second.

 _You will not have nightmares anymore_ , he thinks, taking a reluctant step back. _I am back now. I am here._

Then he sits on the chair by the desk, and he waits.


End file.
